


the person fifteen-year-old me would be proud to have known

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (only in the flashback parts), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Future Fic, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Mentions of Animal Illness, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, depictions of Bitty's teenage years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: In the midst of the hockey season, Bitty savors a rare lazy morning with his partners.He's come a long way to get where he is now.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	the person fifteen-year-old me would be proud to have known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [picklesandsweetpea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picklesandsweetpea/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for Allison! Thank you for taking part in the 2020 Fandom Trumps Hate auction! The prompt requested Jack/Bitty/a third person, so I hope you enjoy this bit of Jack/Bitty/Kent domesticity, with some Bitty backstory thrown in :)
> 
> The title is from the song Battle Cries by The Amazing Devil.

Bitty was overwhelmingly grateful for three things as he stumbled through the door into the darkened apartment in the early hours of the morning after the Falcs/Aces game:

1\. That there were pies in the pie safe, fresh and ready and waiting for the hungry without any additional effort on his part. For all he loved feeding people—it was his job, his passion, his vocation, after all—sometimes he was just too damn tired. (Oh, the joys of reaching your late twenties and no longer having that college-jock all-night pie baking stamina anymore. The trade-offs, Bitty would concede, were entirely worth it.)

2\. That he had such an incredibly kind and conscientious partner who did things like buy him fantastically niche home furnishings for Christmas and wait up for him until two am even if it violated all of his rules for good sleep hygiene.

3\. That their boyfriend was staying the night. The Falcs only played the Aces twice during the regular season, which made these proper, in-person visits a rare, longed for treat to be treasured. The internet was a marvelous thing, but it was no substitute for having the man himself physically present, blinking bleary-eyed at the darkened, familiar contents of their Providence apartment, blond hair slightly mussed from the evening’s revelries and himself slightly unsteady on his feet from exhaustion.

“Hey Bittle.” Jack’s soft voice and smile greeted him as he walked into the bedroom, the entire space bathed in a warm, welcoming glow from the single bedside lamp. “Did you two have fun?”

“Yeah, I-” Bitty was caught out by a yawn big enough to be seen from the ISS and shook his head. “Yeah, I can’t feel my legs I danced so much.”

Jack laughed. “What happened to that figure skating stamina?”

“It disappeared the moment I quit competitive sports.” Bitty rifled through the dresser and pulled out a soft t-shirt and shorts to change into. “I’m going to take a quick shower, be right back.”

“We had fun, the club was great, Bits still dances like sex on two legs no matter what he likes to say about being old and decrepit, I’m exhausted, did we really have to go to double overtime? this pie is great, I’m going to sleep now.” 

Jack and Bitty turned to watch an exhausted and determined Kent stumble his way into the room and flop face-first onto the bed, the small hedgerow formed by Jack’s legs under the blankets catching him in the stomach and provoking a faint “oomph”. Bitty fought the simultaneous urges to laugh and groan. He’d spotted a tell-tale smear of red cherry pie filling at the corner of Kent’s mouth and was now imagining it transferring to the lovely light blue duvet. He could hear his inner Shitty screaming that this was how you knew you were part of the establishment, and shook his head.

“Be right back,” he said, and headed off to shower off the residue of sweat and glitter and hair gel that clung to him like the remnants of another, louder, grimier world.

Clean and dry and tucked up in bed with the darkness and silence surrounding him, Bitty could feel sleep closing in on him like a soft-close drawer. He could hear Jack’s familiar breathing on the other side of the bed, calm and even, and Kent, always a restless sleeper, shifting faintly between them. 

Carefully, Bitty pressed himself just a tiny bit closer and let himself drift off to sleep.

* * *

Whenever folks asked about his figure skating—and the SMH boys had always been some of the most enthusiastic and positive about it, so he’d gotten used to answering questions pretty early on—they tended to assume Bitty had skated to Beyoncé. He didn’t blame them. It was a logical assumption to make. 

But he hadn’t. 

Well, he had for exhibition skates a few times, but not in competition. Katya was a traditionalist, for one. And, well. He hadn’t always felt like being mocked for _everything_ he liked.

And so, his competitive figure skating career—abbreviated though it might have been—was filled with the war-horsiest of warhorses. It was, as he looked back, a double-edged sword. It was certainly difficult to stand out as a competitor when you were re-tracing musical ground that had already been trodden by countless others before you. But the greats were great for a reason. They were, well, _great_.

His final competitive season, before he hung up his figure skates for good and picked up a hockey stick and embarked on the long, twisty path that would take him to his future, his free program had been _Carmen_. (His short program had been _The Phantom of the Opera_. Holster had had _opinions_ when he found out.)

Bitty _adored that program_. It was dramatic and fun and over the top, and he knew he could win with it, if he skated well. He drilled it for hours, on and off the ice until he had every step, every gesture perfected.

When he finally debuted it in the first competition of the season, he was so excited. He’d had a solid skate in the short program, and he knew he could win if he had a clean skate now. The announcer called his name and he barely waited to hear Katya’s final words of encouragement before he rushed to center ice to start his performance. 

It was a great skate, too. He landed his jumps and nailed his spins, had fun with the audience and threw himself into the dramatic bits of choreography. By the end, he was shaking with exhaustion, but beaming from ear to ear.

Katya gave him her rare, coveted proud smile, and when his score came up, she didn’t even scold him for jumping up and down in his excitement.

The fall, when it came, was like a bucket of cold ice water to the face. 

As he stood by the side of the rink with the other medalists, waiting for the medal ceremony to start, still bouncing and jittery with adrenaline from his victory, Bitty heard the murmurings between the bronze medalist and the silver medalist.

“Look, just because the flamboyant little shit managed to dazzle the judges with a sparkly costume and a warhorse program it doesn’t mean he’s actually better than you.”

Bitty felt something bright and joyful crumple up and die inside himself, hearing that. The weight of reality was crushing.

It didn’t matter if you followed the rules. It didn’t matter if you hid. People would belittle you for anything. 

There would be more lessons where that came from in the coming months and years, the same as there had been in the months and years before. And it would be several years after that before he managed to work his way out of the hole he had dug in his psyche. But he never again managed to skate to _Carmen_ with that same unbridled joy as he had that first time.

* * *

The problem with dating a professional athlete (as Bitty learned early on), is that they tend to have ridiculously well-trained internal clocks. And, as was his primary bone of contention, that they have that internal clock set to wake themselves up early. Like, really early. Insanely early. (Bitty knew this before he started dating Jack. Really, he was forewarned. And yet.)

While this was now one of the beloved and rather charming aspects of Jack being Jack, it still did mean that early morning cuddles and long lie-ins, lazing about in bed were a rare and treasured delicacy. Each rare occurrence was an event to be marked, noted, and remembered individually, with supreme fondness.

Dating two professional athletes, both with finely tuned internal timekeeping mechanisms and the professional necessity to get up early (although Kent, thank goodness, was not nearly such an early bird as Jack), meant that lazy morning cuddles with both of them were even more rare and precious than Bitty could say. He didn’t truly mind, though, they more than made up for it in countless other ways.

It was something of a surprise, then, when Bitty found himself drifting awake, cozy and warm, flanked on either side by the reassuring bulk of a familiar pair of NHL players.

“Mm, what time is it?” Bitty asked as he opened his eyes, squinting at the bright winter morning sunlight that was streaming through the curtains. He knew it couldn’t be too early, given the light and how well-rested he felt even after his late night the night before.

“It’s a little after ten.” Kent leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bitty’s jaw.

“It’s so late! Why didn’t you wake me up? There’s only a couple of hours before you have to leave!”

“We have until three. I promised Coach I’d get myself to the airport, so we have some extra time.” Kent flashed him a grin that promised it would be a fun five hours. “Besides, you’ve got to give me and Zimms some time to ourselves. How else are we going to get any plotting done?”

Bitty raised an eyebrow. “Plotting? Aren’t we usually the ones doing the plotting? I don’t know how I feel about the two of you conspiring against me.”

“But Bits, if we don’t plot against you, then you don’t get any surprises.” That grin again. It made something both light and fluttery and heavy and electric turn over in Bitty’s gut.

“Surprises?”

“Surprises,” came a voice from his other side. “Like this one.” Jack slid closer until the full length of his body was pressed up against Bitty’s side, warm and familiar.

Bitty must have still been waking up because it was only then that he fully realized that both Jack and Kent were in bed with him, under the covers, and naked. Okay, maybe he could accept a bit of plotting at his expense if this was the result.

“Surprises, huh? Well, consider me surprised. Anything else you’ve conspired to surprise me with?” He grinned widely at the pair of them.

“Well,” said Jack, slowly sliding his hand up Bitty’s chest under his sleep shirt.

“Oh!” There was a thump and the mattress bounced and then Kent was sitting up, triumphantly clutching a brown paper bag in one hand. “We also got you bagels!”

Bitty burst out laughing.

* * *

Bitty’s mama was his best friend. She always had been, ever since he was little. It was probably strange for a teenager, to be best friends with one of your parents and to have it be your mom besides, but Bitty never minded. Even when he was teased for it, the strength and comfort he felt when he spent time baking or talking with his mama more than made up for it.

It hurt not to talk to her about things.

Sometimes it was an actual, physical ache in his chest, the words he held back building up into a solid, spikey ball that embedded itself behind his breastbone and grew and tugged and ached every time he swallowed down something he wanted to say. A reminder of what he would risk. A reminder of his fear.

It wasn’t there all of the time. Most days he managed to talk about recipes and school and skating without that creeping, destructive urge to blurt out things which must not be said. But it was still awful. It was awful when it happened, and it was awful when it didn’t. Because Bitty wanted to tell her.

She was his mama. She was his best friend. And this was something he could never, ever tell her.

He never even let himself think about what would happen if he did. Any outcome was too terrible to comprehend. 

And so, he swallowed his words and baked more pies. It seemed to work.

After all, his mama was his best friend. And he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. A friend you can compare the relative merits of four different short-crust pastry recipes with, and then test out them all to compare is hard to find. A friend who will listen to the complex and convoluted drama of the Georgia junior figure skating scene and support your own particular pettiness is one in a million (and there weren’t that many people in Madison). A friend who will take your side and let you cry when things get hard . . . well. That wasn’t something Bitty was willing to risk. Not for anything.

So, there were things his mama didn’t need to know. Things she would never know about, despite being his best friend. And Bitty . . . Bitty was okay with that. He was.

He could swallow down his words and keep this thing inside, and in a few years, he would go off to college where he would make new friends and maybe some of them . . . Maybe some of them would be the kind of people he could talk to. Not about pies or figure skating gossip, but about this. About . . . liking boys.

That would sure be something. Wouldn’t it.

* * *

It was definitely the afternoon by the time bitty found himself in the kitchen, swaying softly to the music from his phone as he cooked up a late lunch. Jack and Kent sat at the peninsula bar and argued over which photo of Kit that Kent should post to her Insta (always a fraught topic—Jack had the technical edge as a photographer, but Kent had opinions on Kit’s angles) while they snacked on a bowl of grapes and waited for the pasta to finish boiling.

It was so ridiculously domestic, Bitty could have cried.

When the pasta was finished and plated with the chicken and broccoli (sometimes Bitty wondered if he would ever truly escape the staples of the athlete’s diet. Given that he was married to Jack, the answer was probably no.) and a plate of warm biscuits set on the table, they settled in to eat. 

Kent good-naturedly put his phone away (he’d won this round and already posted his selection—he could afford to be magnanimous) and switched from bragging about his furry princess to detailing their last trip to the vet and the new wet food they were trying. 

Bitty nodded along, a faint ache in his chest. He knew Kit was getting older, and that Kent worried about her more now. He’d never had a pet himself; he couldn’t truly imagine what it was like for Kent to worry about one of his closest friends (at one point his only friend) in that way, but he knew Kent loved her and he knew he wanted to support Kent in this.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Bitty said at a pause in the conversation. “Mama and Coach want to know if you are still coming down to Madison with us for the bye week. They got really worried when I told them Kit had a health scare, and they thought maybe you wouldn’t want to leave her alone on the vacation. I said you’d probably just bring her along, but they didn’t want to put any pressure on you to stress her out any more than necessary.”

Kent paused for a moment, fork halfway to his mouth like something out of a cartoon. Then he laughed. “Yeah, I still want to come to visit. And I wasn’t going to ask, but if your parents don’t mind, I’d love to bring Kit. She’s actually a great traveler. I just thought bringing her along might be a bit presumptuous.”

“Are you kidding? The Bittles love Kit. You know they’ve basically claimed her as their only grandchild.” Jack grinned from behind a bite of chicken. “I’m pretty sure Coach got an Instagram just so he could follow her account.” 

“You’re joking.”

“He’s really not.” Bitty shook his head. “I’ll let them know your plans remain unchanged, then, and to expect one Kit Puurson as well. They’ll be ecstatic.”

“They’ll spoil her rotten,” said Jack, with keen insight into Kit’s future.

It was true. And it would probably be an even more chaotic event than usual with an elderly cat at the center of attention. But Bitty couldn’t wait to have his entire family together.

* * *

The acceptance letter from Samwell crinkled in his hands from how hard he gripped it. The paper felt heavier than it should—only a single sheet and yet it seemed like it carried the full weight of years of hopes and dreams and expectations. Carefully, Bitty set it down on the counter, smoothed the edges, and pulled out the rest of the items in the acceptance packet.

The more he read the more he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Tears clouded his vision.

_We would like to welcome you . . . an exemplary candidate . . . the Samwell Men's Hockey Team would like to offer you the opportunity . . . hope you will join us this fall . . . a full scholarship . . . believe you will be an asset to our team._

Hands shaking, he set the rest of the papers down next to the acceptance letter. Bitty took a moment just to breathe. This was it. He’d done it. Samwell. He was going to Samwell. The next breath was more of a gasp and he couldn’t tell if it was from joy or fear or what. This was it. This was happening. It wasn’t just a dream anymore, he was really, truly going to do it.

He had to tell his parents. 

With a soft, tremulous voice he called, “Mama?” Then again, louder and stronger this time. “Mama? Can we talk for a minute?”

* * *

It was a horribly difficult decision. Part of Bitty never wanted to get off of this couch again, to stay peaceful and content with his partners relaxing here forever. The other part of him desperately wanted to get up and rush about the kitchen, whipping up last-minute treats and packing up the best possible care package he could for Kent to take back with him to Vegas.

He already had two pies cooling on wire racks, and a couple dozen Mexican wedding cakes just waiting for their final powdered sugar coating, and the latest version of his high-protein walnut, apple, and carrot bread wrapped up and ready to go (two loaves, one just for Kent and one to share with the rest of the Aces). But there was an itch in the back of his brain that said he needed to whip up a strudel, or maybe some éclairs.

Intellectually, he knew he was being ridiculous and that he should relax and enjoy the precious little time together they had left, but the urge to temper some chocolate was strong.

Lost in thought, the hand that landed on his shoulder came as a surprise. “Feeling the urge to bake?” Jack asked.

Bitty gave him a sheepish grin. “Maybe a little. Don’t worry, I’m restraining myself.”

Kent nudged him gently in the leg with his foot. “Naw, it’s fine. Go make a little something if it’ll make you feel better. Do chocolate chip cookies or something. I’ll refuse to share with the guys on the plane and make them all super jealous.” 

He smirked, and Bitty burst out laughing, playfully pushing his foot and poking toes away. “I’ll make you chocolate chip cookies and you will share because you are a nice person, Kent Parson.”

“Lies and slander.”

Bitty rolled his eyes as he rolled off the couch and headed into the kitchen. Chocolate chip cookies _were_ a good idea. And the other Aces would like them, too.

He still couldn’t help but fret when Kent was standing by the door, waiting for his Uber to the airport. He’d already double-checked that his basket of baked goods was ready to go, the bag of warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies sitting on top. 

When he went to shift through the contents a third time Kent caught him by the shoulder and gave him a look. Bitty sighed, but relaxed slightly. “Sorry,” he said, “I don’t like it when you leave.” 

“I know,” Kent said with a melancholy smile. “Come here.” 

Bitty let himself be pulled into the hug and wrapped his arms around Kent’s waist. He hated saying goodbye. It never got any easier, no matter how much practice he got.

There was a honk from outside and Kent stepped back. “I’ll see you soon Bits, it’s like barely a month and a half to the bye week. Laters, y’all.” With a final quick press of his lips to Bitty’s and another kiss for Jack, he grabbed his things and was out the door.

A pair of strong arms came up to wrap around Bitty’s chest and he sighed and relaxed backward onto Jack’s torso. “I can’t believe he picked up ‘y’all’ from you.” The words were murmured into his hair, but Bitty could still make them out quite clearly.

“Are you disrespecting the way I speak?” He let a sprinkle of playful outrage leak into his voice. Jack knew him so well, and could always be relied upon to provide a distraction.

“No, absolutely not, I would never do that,” said Jack, letting more of his own accent leak into his words.

Bitty laughed and pushed himself upright. “Of course not.” He wondered if he had enough butter after all of today’s baking to make another batch of cookies. And he still had to plan out all of his pre-bye week baking! Sure, there were still weeks to go, but he couldn’t let everyone go off on their vacations without some homemade treats. He had to plan.

Bitty was glad he had so much to do. The bye week couldn’t come soon enough.


End file.
